


A Craving for Alcohol and You

by mostlikelydefinentlymad



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Johnlock Fluff, M/M, TJLC | The Johnlock Conspiracy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-11
Updated: 2015-04-11
Packaged: 2018-03-22 08:36:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3722272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mostlikelydefinentlymad/pseuds/mostlikelydefinentlymad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One night before his wedding, on his stag night, John realizes who has been there all along and who he loves more than life itself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Craving for Alcohol and You

_I wanted you…_ John mumbles. They’ve both had entirely too much to drink but it _is_ John’s stag night after all. It’s expected. He didn’t mean to say those words out loud though.

 _Mm?_ Sherlock replies, leaning toward John in an effort to hear him better.

John clears his throat and thinks it’s now or never and he’s getting married soon so it’s safe to tell him now.

_I wanted you..you were only wearing a sheet, remember? Mm? That time? And we had a laugh about it. Couldn’t get the image out of my head._

Sherlock isn’t sure he heard right. John? Thinking of him like that? What an absurd notion. Sure he felt those things for John but never dreamed he’d actually feel them back. _Any minute now I’ll wake up in my bed all alone_ , he thinks to himself. 

 _You mean to say you…you…_ he’s stammering over his words and can’t seem to form a coherant sentence and the alcohol certainly isn’t helping.

 _Yes._ John replies and leans forward and they’re so close that their knees are touching. This can’t be real.

 _I don’t know what to say. I never…you….never suspected,_ he’s making progress now nearly forming a complete sentence and hoping John can understand the missing pieces.

 _Don’t say anything, nothing at all,_ John whispers and presses his lips to Sherlock’s before he has a chance to protest. He needs this, craves it, has wanted it since the day he saw Sherlock standing in the lab and he knew his life story.

Sherlock’s mind is dizzy and foggy but he knows one thing for sure, this isn’t a dream. John is all around him, John with his scruffy hair, John in his arms, John with his warm inviting tongue that’s tangling with his. He catalogs every sensation, every brush of John’s leg against his, he doesn’t want to forget.

John pulls away and rests his forehead against Sherlocks. They’re both breathing heavily now and the room is spinning, it seems brighter somehow; more lively. They don’t speak, there’s no need for words right now. Neither are willing to think about the repercussions, the fall out or John’s impending wedding. All that matters is this moment, right here. 

They move to the couch and tangle together, John’s hand on Sherlock’s hip, Sherlock’s hand around John’s waist, teasing the skin underneath of his thin shirt. Desperate kisses, they’re starving for this love, would gladly die of it.

Night turns into morning and the sun streams through the windows and wakes them. Half dressed and still wrapped around one another, they awaken. John always was an early bird and he thanks his lucky stars for that because it means he gets to see Sherlock peacefully sleeping. His eyes moving even in his sleep, his arms around John’s naked torso, head pressed up against it, small puffs of air coming out as he breaths and John thinks he could get used to this. He feels like his heart is going to burst at any given moment and scare the both of them.

 _John?_ he must have felt John’s gaze on him as he rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands and wondered if last night was merely a dream and John isn’t actually squished beside of him on their couch, isn’t actually running his fingers through Sherlock’s hair.

 _I’m here_ , John replies quietly. He’s worried. Sherlock is frowning and sitting up, untangling himself and John finds that he misses the warmth already. Please please don’t apologize, he silently begs.

 _We didn’t…?_ Sherlock asked, puzzled, as hes tugging his shirt over his head.

 _No, we fell asleep. Do you remember?_ John questions and he can’t meet Sherlock’s eyes. He’s afraid he’ll only see regret reflecting back at him.

 _Ah, yes. Are we okay?_ Sherlock asks and they both know what he’s really asking. Do you regret my kisses, do you regret all the things you said?

They’re interrupted by a chipper tap at the door. _Knock knock, are you boys up?_ Mrs. Hudson asks as she sits a tray of biscuits and tea on the small table. They both know she has questions but now is not the time to indulge them.

 _Morning,_ John says as he smiles at her and makes himself a cup of tea. The warmth replaces the chill in his bones that set in after Sherlock severed physical contact with him.

 _G’ morning Mrs. Hudson,_ Sherlock replies and hopes that his voice doesn’t give away too much as it wobbles nervously. He hasn’t forgotten about last night…the things John said, the taste of his tongue, the gentle thud of his heartbeat against Sherlock’s ear.

 _I’ll sit this here and let you boys be. I’m sure you have a lot to talk about_ , says Mrs. Hudson as she makes her way out the door and smiles to herself when they can’t see it. Her boys are back together, there’s hope yet.

 _John I just want you to know tha-_ Sherlock begins to say but is cut off by John pressing a finger to his lips and he has to resist the urge to nibble it, to taste it.

 _Just..let me have this night, this memory. We don’t ever have to speak of it again but I want to keep it. I don’t regret anything._ John proclaims and he hasn’t moved his finger just yet. He uses it to brush against Sherlock’s bottom lip, caressing it gently. He wishes he could quit this man but he’s oxygen and danger all wrapped up in one, he’s irresistible.

 _Okay John_ , Sherlock sputters. He can’t concentrate when John is touching him like that. All he can think of is John, everywhere, in everything. He knows he shouldn’t, god he really shouldn’t, but he pulls John in for a kiss. With each touch of John’s lips to his he’s leaving a poem, he’s folding back the pages and marking his place. Tea, he tastes like warm honey and earl gray tea, delicious.

John deepens the kiss and slides his tongue against Sherlock’s. He can’t imagine ever feeling this much pure raw carnal _need_ and deep yearning love for anyone other than this man. He wants every part of him in his life until death do them part. He wants his ring on Sherlock’s finger and the thought surprises him. He’s making a vow tomorrow to a woman that he made a commitment to when Sherlock was dead, out of pure loneliness and lust. In that moment, he knows he can’t go through with it, can’t imagine not waking up to this every morning. He can’t tell Sherlock, not yet.

_the next day  
_

John is sitting in his chair at 221B and wondering if he made the right decision by calling off the wedding, by leaving Mary. She was visibly upset when he admitted he wasn’t feeling how he should toward her, anymore. She knew right away, of course she did. She could read people as well as Sherlock. He’d packed what little belongings he’d acquired and made his way back home. Home…to Sherlock. The moment had come to tell him, to confess and hope that he saw what John had did it for _them_ , for their future together.

 _Sherlock, we need to talk_ , John says and Sherlock frowns and drops into his chair, steeples his hands in front of him. This can’t be good. He’s terrified and wants to crawl out of his skin. He knew this was coming, he should’ve prepared himself for it.

 _Yes?_ Sherlock replies calmly and it comes out calmer than he feels.

Might as well rip the band-aid off quickly.

 _I called off the wedding, it’s over. It’s all over_ , John says as he pulls his chair closer to Sherlock’s.

 _I…I don’t know what to say, John_ , he replies and for the second time in his life he’s speechless. His breath catches in his throat and it’s as dry as the Sahara desert.

 _You don’t have to say a thing, nothing at all,_ John whispers and leans over to take Sherlock’s face in his hands. His eyes are misting up and his hands are shaking but he doesn’t care. He softly kisses Sherlock’s forehead, nose, cheeks and finally his lips. In this moment, there’s no need for words or well intentioned apologies.

Sherlock can’t believe what he’s hearing. _John. His John. Mary…gone. John at 221B with his dressing robe and newspaper every morning for the rest of their lives._ He can’t help but smile against John’s lips, can’t contain the joy that bubbles up in his throat.

Life can’t possibly get any sweeter than this.


End file.
